


Turning Back

by ylvglo



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylvglo/pseuds/ylvglo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out that <em>knowing</em> that there is a monster under your bed is far less terrifying than <em>fearing</em> that there is one. Because in the end, reality can never stand up to the vivid imaginations of a creative mind. And as everyone experience, the old grump in the corner flat isn’t all that bad when you get to know him.</p><p>Pitch tipped the balance and now he’s paying for his carelessness. There might still be hope though in the dusty tomes of an abandoned library. Time is after all, relative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Library of Santoff Claussen

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the kinkmeme at Dreamwith  
> Prompt:  
> http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=4957269#cmt4957269
> 
> I was a bit uncertain about what tags to add, so I'd love some suggestions. And maybe you have an idea for a more creative title.

Rubbing a finger in soothing circles on his forehead, Pitch closes his eyes and leans back in his chair. He can feel a headache coming, but he can’t rest, not yet. Besides if he were to move from this spot he’d just stir up the dust again. Years of abandonment had caused a thick layer of dust to settle on every surface within Santoff Claussen.

Years. It really had been years since his rise to power, decades actually when he thinks about it. It had all been so much simpler then, he’d just wanted to be acknowledged, to be believed in. And believe in him the humans did, but their fear of him and the fear of the unknown is waning. Shadows flickering in the light, howls in the night, movements in the woods, it was all ‘just the boogeyman trying to rile you up, but don’t be scared, he can’t harm you’. Oh there is still fear, plenty of it, but they are all real fears, ‘when’s and ‘how’s and ‘where’s. They are all lovely fears in and off themselves but without those illogical spikes of terror -- the ‘what if’s and ‘maybe's -- underlying, he can’t tap into them.

Without hope, wonder, dreams and precious memories, humans believes their fates to be inevitable, there will be pain and loss, there is nothing they can do to stop it. He had never realised how fear tinged with a sense of hope was just that much more delicious than fear of the inevitable, not until Hope was gone.

The most worrying though is that decades of nothing but fear, it tires the mind out. It just shuts down and the person stop caring, and that is dangerous. It is a slow process and only a handful are affected every year, but that is still far more than a decade ago, and in the end they will all stop caring. When that time comes, he will fade away to nothing, just like the Guardians, and soon humanity will follow.

For now there is still time. He is not as powerful as a decade ago, but still far more powerful than the Guardians ever were. As long as he has his powers, there is hope (and isn’t that ironic? He’d destroyed Bunnymund, the Guardian of Hope, himself) and as long as the library within Santoff Claussen exists, there is a chance.

With a long suffering sigh Pitch opens his eyes and grabs another of the tome’s he’d spread before him on the desk and begin to leaf through it. The headache is now hitting him full on, but he won’t let it stop him, if anything it makes him look harder.

He knows what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t know if its actually here. The library of Santoff Claussen is still his best bet though, North’s collection of magical tomes is the most extensive in the world, it includes all of Ombric’s old volumes and as far as Pitch knows, Bunnymund had left some of the works from his own collection in the Cossack’s care.

He isn’t sure what he will do if he doesn’t find it. Giving up is not an option though, it would leave a sour taste in his mouth. He would rather fade away knowing he did his absolutely best than being haunted by the knowledge he didn’t try hard enough.

An undetermined time later he finds it. He almost misses it between his raging headache and exhausted mind, but he finds it. The relief  and hope flooding him as he begins to read through the spell, soon deflates though. He’d forgotten an important detail, maybe even the most important one, time travel requires raw magic, the magic that come from the core of the self. A ridiculous amount too, travelling back a couple of days alone would almost drain him of his reserves. To travel decades...

Once, a long, long time ago, raw magic wouldn’t have been a concern, he had been overflowing with it then. At one point though -- he suspects it was at the end of the Dark Ages -- the Man in the Moon had found a way to bind Pitch’s powers to the belief of humanity, in particular the children. The power gained (as well as lost) through that belief had replaced most of his raw magic.

What is left is not enough, not for this. Still, he can’t just give up. He’ll have to ask someone to aid him ( _who’d think he’d ever fall so low?_ Him _! The_ Nightmare King _, asking for_ help _!?_ ), but who? Of the spirits that are left most are fading, the humans belief in them waning; their aspects lost. The rest... He’d rather not ask any of them, they enjoy this reality far too much to want it changed. There are no one, no one both powerful enough and willing, none...

Except, there is. There is one who has yet to be bond to an aspect, yet not in the heart of humanity, one who Pitch hasn’t deliberately weakened over the decades since his victory over the Guardians.

Jack Frost.

The spell Pitch had used on the frost sprite doesn’t do anything to diminish his powers, it only traps him in the chasm he’d fallen into back when he refused to join Pitch. Of all the spirits out there, Jack is the most likely to be willing to help. If Pitch can prove he speaks the truth that is.

He will, one way or the other. He _has_ to.

With that thought in mind he rises, taking the book beneath an arm and walks toward the nearest shadow. The dust particles fly into the air around him and has he coughs he can’t help but feel a tinge of sadness at the state the once great Santoff Claussen have been reduced to.

He reaches the shadows and with a last look at his dreary surroundings, he disappears, not realising that there is still one more spirit out there that he forgot to contemplate. One as likely as Frost to be willing to help, and immensely more powerful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit on the short side, but I wanted to post it now so that I had a motivation to continue. Still I fear the updates will be quite irregular.


	2. Antarctica Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch arrives at Antarctica to find that Jack is not alone.

Frost is not alone. As he materialize in the shadows in the chasm, Pitch can for a moment do nothing but stare at the regal woman standing before the winter sprite. He recognize her of course, even if he is more used to see her dressed in greens, browns and stony greys than in the whites and light blues she now wears. She is almost invisible against the chasm’s walls, only her raven hair standing in stark contrast to her surroundings; it flows down her back, a cape in its own right. She is... he can’t say she is beautiful, not in the way humans define beauty, handsome is perhaps a more fitting description.

Blinking his surprise away, Pitch realizes he hadn’t even considered asking for her assistance. He shakes his head slightly, disappointed in himself. Frost might be a powerful winter spirit, but that’s all he is, a winter spirit and not all that old either. Mother Nature on the hand, she is _the_ spirit of nature. She is one of the most powerful spirits of this world, and like them she seldom interferes with mortals and other spirits. Of her kind she is the most willing to bend the rules though.

He has nothing to lose in asking her. After he finds out what she wants with Frost of course.

Pitch knows she is not here to free the young spirit. No, had she cared, she would never have let Pitch imprison him in the first place. For now it seems she is only speaking with Frost, whispering really – no doubt she knows Pitch is there – and he can’t catch a word of what she says. He does not dare come closer though, he does not want Mother Nature’s ire upon himself. No spirit in their right mind does; no mortal either, but then he isn’t quite sure humanity has ever been in their right mind.

Mother Nature moves a hand inside her robes and Pitch perches up in interest. A moment later her hand comes back out and she holds it palm up towards Frost. From this angle the boogeyman can’t tell what it is, but at least it seem to befuddle the frost spirit. Mother Nature smiles and says something and Frost look at her with wide eyes before moving an awed gaze back at the item in her hand.

“Can it really do that?” he breathes in disbelief, not at all aware of their eavesdropper. Mother Nature smiles warmly (and why does it upset Pitch to see that look aimed at the frost sprite?) and nods. She lifts her arms to Frost’s neck and hang the item in her hand – a pendant he sees now – around it.

She straightens up, and how small Frost looks before here, before turning towards Pitch. “Hello Father,” she says in a tone of voice that should not carry at all and yet it echoes through the chasm. He’s not really aware of that, his mind focusing on the words, or word really. She’d called him father. He sputters.

“ _What?!_ ” he hisses, beating Frost by half a second. The winter sprite is looking at him with the most dumbfounded expression; Pitch would have smirked had it not been for the fact that the expression is in all likelihood mirrored on his own face.

Something flashes through Mother Nature’s eyes, something he can’t quite grasp, but long dormant and forgotten feelings stir within him at the sight. “You still don’t remember,” she sighs, “We were hoping that... but no, this plan is mainly for your own benefit. We will not lose hope in you though, Father.” There is a bone deep sadness in her voice and it resonates within him, an encompassing grief nipping at his still heart.

He is about to speak, demand an explanation _(what are these foreign feelings welling within him?_ ) but then of course Frost interrupts and speaks first. “Wait, wait, _wait_!” he says staring at Mother Nature like she is some eldritch abomination ( _and how dare he do that?!_ ). “ _The Boogeyman_ is your _father?!_ ” The kid looks like a dunce with that expression on his face; Pitch hardly notice.

“ _No!_ ” he shrieks – he does absolutely _not_ squeak! – simultaneously as a simple “yes” leaves Mother Nature’s lips. She lifts a non-existent eyebrow at him, he can only glare back, words failing him as he notes that detail. Frost snorts, but Pitch doesn’t deign it any reaction beyond a slight narrowing of his eyes, by the smirk on the boy’s face, even that is too much.

He huffs indignantly. “I would certainly remember if I ever fathered a daughter.” She gives him an unimpressed look and behind her Frost opens his mouth to speak, but he glares at the boy and the sprite snaps his mouth shut.

“Just like you remember Kozmotis Pitchiner?” Mother Nature asks, her brow rising impossibly higher.

Pitch frowns, the name echoing oddly within him. “Who?”

“A great man, a great father and,” she pauses and shakes her head sadly, “the greatest general the Golden Armies ever saw.” There is a longing in her voice, so deep it throws him off for a second, but then the words sink in.

“I _destroyed_ the Golden Armies!” he seethes, anger flaring up in him. “This Kozmotis Pitchiner you speak of is long gone with the rest of them!” What is she even trying to imply? And why do his words sound like a lie in his own ears?

“You did indeed destroy them, but the Golden General is not quite gone,” she says giving him a look he can’t decipher. “Alas that is neither here nor there, and we believe we have distracted you from your original purpose for coming here.” He blinks confused for a moment before his reasons for coming returns to him. Opening his mouth, he intends to ask for her assistance, but she beats him to it. “Before you ask, no, we won’t help you with this. You will have to do with Frost.”

For a moment Pitch can do nothing but stare at Mother Nature. Could it really be that he has misjudged her? But no, that thought doesn’t sit quite right with him. There is something he’s missing.

“Don’t look so flabbergasted, Father,” she says sounding fondly exasperated. He huffs, quite annoyed she is still insisting on calling him that, and folds his arms over his chest. “We’re a bit disappointed actually, that it seems you have forgotten we are _omnipresent_.”

Omnipresent… 

_Oh._

He feels like smacking himself. That he’d forget such an important detail! There are laws, laws that protect the fabric of reality. A soul cannot exist as two separate entities at once without tearing at the fabric and eventually one or both entities _will_ fade away to prevent permanent damage to the web. It is why time travel is such a dangerous thing; you could literally destroy yourself without even trying.

These are the laws of singular beings though. The consequences of the soul of an omnipresent being, existing as two entities at once are much, much more dire. He knows what lies on the other side of the fabric, and so does Mother Nature. It is why she refuses to help him; neither of them wants to set those eldritch abominations on the world.

“Forgive me,” he says with a curt nod of his head, “I should have thought it through before deciding to ask for your assistance.” She gives him a rueful smile as she accepts the apology.

“I hate to disrupt a father-daughter moment–” Jack; all but forgotten by the other two, begins, but is quickly cut off by Pitch screeching in indignation.

“She is _not_ my daughter!”

“–but would either of you care to explain what you’re talking about?” the sprite finish without missing more than a beat.

Pitch grumbles lightly under his breath. This is the part he’s been dreading. Explaining the situation to Frost, because there is no way the sprite won’t hold it over him. But Pitch needs him, he’s the only one, now that Mother Nature is out of the picture, he can think of that both can and will help. “Time travel, Frost,” he says with a tired sigh.

“Time… travel…” Frost echoes slowly with a confused frown, before his eyes narrow and he gives Pitch a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“Would you believe me if I said I am simply bored?”

“No.” It had been worth a try at least.

“No, I didn’t think so,” he says slowly, well aware of the amused glint in Mother Nature’s eyes as she watches their dialogue. He takes a deep breath and decides to just get it over with. “Humanity is dying, Frost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally planning on finnishing this chapter with the return to the past, but I felt you'd waited too long already so I decided to cut it here.


End file.
